


Hold 'em and Fold 'em

by UWotMaTe



Series: Grave [3]
Category: BBS - Fandom
Genre: Character Death, M/M, Minor Character Death, Serial Killers, Slow Burn, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2019-07-13 12:22:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16017836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UWotMaTe/pseuds/UWotMaTe
Summary: Sometimes it's good to take a risk; go on a date, take a break, welcome someone new into the family. Just as long as you know when to quit.Our investigative team embarks on unearthing the truth behind the serial killer who's recently targeted one of their own and very well may target yet another soon.Also! Also also also!Ao3 won't let me add these tags:HutchLegionDead SquirrelRun DJ Run





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> I'm uncertain if I'm going to continue this series. I've lost the passion for it, honestly. If you want to see more, feel free to pester me about it, but this might wind up being the last installment of Grave.

The ceiling fan completed one full spin in 1.07 seconds. He counted. And after he was certain of its speed, he counted how many times it's completed this cycle to himself until the dead darkness around him shifted into the dying orange tints hinting at a now rising sun. 6,231. That's how many times it's spun around. One hour, forty three minutes and fifty seconds had passed. Yet he'd been awake for three days, 17 hours, and eighteen minutes. 

He looked away from the ceiling fan to watch the shadows climb the walls. If he wanted, he could count how many seconds it took for the light to pass the bookshelf, but he was tired of counting. He'd been counting for so long. He hadn't meant for it to become a habit. That's the thing about coping mechanisms, he supposed. How quickly small thing such as biting the inside of your cheek or fidgeting with a loose string on your sleeve could become an obsessional need, a compulsion, one that you start doing unknowingly and for whatever reason can't stop. He'd been counting like this since he was 7. He'd stopped once he made it into college. He'd gotten professional help. Years of hard, focused work now swirling down the drain. Despite how badly he wished he could just close his eyes and forget the rising sun, he found his brain systematically rattling off the steady incline of numbers. 

A sigh expelled itself from his lungs, weak and struggling. It could barely be considered a sigh as it was more of an extended exhale of a tired man. His chest sent a flash of hot pain begging him to rethink ever doing that again. 

5,283 seconds and the shadows finally cleared the bookshelf. Nearly another hour and a half had passed. He was sick of looking at the bookshelf, sick of looking at the fan, sick of watching time pass him by in spinning blades or crawling shadows. 

He looked everywhere. Anywhere. As long as his eyes never fell to his wrists. Of which he'd hidden beneath the comforter so that should he fail at keeping himself distracted then he wouldn't have to see the scars still red and irritated surrounded by bruises now starting to turn in color. Sickly green and blue. Unsightly. He glanced down but the blanket kept him blind. He was thankful. 

The body besides him moved. The act had happened so many times before and only recently did it startle him every time. The constant heat radiating besides him told him of the presence of the other but he continued to forget that he wasn't alone. The movement, no matter how slight, startled him. He wasn't expecting the person to move. Ridiculous, he knew, living people move, but that was the problem. He kept forgetting they were alive. 

Behind his eyes flashed the all too familiar image of the body. It's flesh carved and roasting welcoming swarms of flies. Eyes, absent of color, stared at him. Teeth bared due to the removal of the lips. He watched in disgusted horror as maggots wormed out of the nose, falling on the chin before plummeting to the ground below. He'd expected the cadaver to move. Like this was all some sick show of force. He expected it to start talking or blink. It never moved. For a little over two days that had been his only company. Now he saw that same decaying face reflected in every living person he came across. It was jarring, to say in the least. It was jarring and completely irrational. He knew this, but knowing didn't help.

He shifted a bit further away from the body besides him before turning to look at the clock. The neon numbers hurt his eyes. They were too bright. He said not a word as he peeled himself out of bed. The sheet clung to the bare skin of his back begging him to stay. He felt that if he lay there a moment longer he'd snap. He welcomed the chill that the cooled carpet brought to his feet. He could have sworn he'd went to bed with socks on. He couldn't remember taking them off. Then again, he couldn't remember a lot of things recently. He did remember, however, that french toast, sunny side up eggs, and some mildly crispy bacon made for a good breakfast. He didn't have to think it so much as his body just knew and wasted no time following a near instinctual need to get started. 

Tyler felt the weight shift besides him. His eyes snapped open instantly. For a second, he forgot where he was. He remembered collapsing on the couch late last night. A game had been on and he'd felt that the house had been a bit stuffy as of late. He'd only been trying to provide a distraction. He remembered the smell of burnt popcorn mixed with the smell of the cheap corner store nachos smothered in the equally as cheap cheese and jalapenos that decorated it all. He remembered the same shift in weight besides him on the couch. He'd glanced nervously to watch as the other excused himself to bed earlier than the day before. He figured he'd give him time. That's what he needed, right? Time and space? He let his game play out, stayed put for every scored goal and every red flag thrown. And when the program had turned into an hour of the hosts talking about the players, the strategies, and mistakes made he'd turned everything off and headed to bed himself. He'd found the lights still on. The bed was empty but the blankets were askew. The dogs were asleep soundly in their own little beds. Usually, this would have been odd but as of late, this was now normal and Tyler hated it. 

He'd gone to bed, left the lights on and left the other side of the bed untouched. He relinquished the simplest of tasks to the other. Anything to help give him some sort of control. 

It wasn't enough. Tyler felt helpless and while he understood, he still felt like everything they had was falling apart. He woke up alone, he went to bed alone, he lived almost as if he was alone. That scared him. Still he kept his mouth shut and his eyes down. He was just glad that they'd found him. Alive too. Ohm was alive. But he wasn't the same. Then again, who would be?

He plucked himself out of bed and silently moved to see where his boyfriend was disassociating now. He didn't have to go far. The dogs gave everything away. They were huddled in a near pile at the edge of the kitchen both hoping that the doctor would drop some of the eggs he was cooking but not daring to enter the kitchen. Tyler wondered what it was that kept them at bay as they would usually jump and claw at the legs of who ever was cooking no matter how many times they got told no. 

He too held off on entering the kitchen. For the moment, he felt that it would be best that he stayed put. 

“Good morning,” he called out softly. Ohm looked up from the pan and flashed a smile. It hurt Tyler to see such a smile. He'd seen it far too many times lately. It was the same smile Ohm gave when he was trying to be sympathetic in the field or building rapport with a suspect. Fake and, to the untrained eye, convincing. 

“Sorry, I...I didn't mean to wake you.”

“You didn't.”

Tyler glanced over towards the kitchen island and stared at the set plates awaiting food to decorate them. Tyler didn't want to talk about what food it would be that would crowd the plates. He didn't care. He'd rather talk about the fact that Ohm was displaying a dangerous amount of signs found in those suffering with PTSD and he should know this. For almost ten years the man had worked with people also displaying these signs. He'd tried to talk about it. The conversation never lasted long and never went far. It was the same repeated question, the same false answer, and the same promise of “You can talk to me.” no. No it wasn't a promise, it was a beg. God, all Tyler wanted was for Oh to just talk to him! Yet every time he muttered those cursed words, “You can talk to me,” he never got a response. He never would.

Knowing this only made things worse. As much as it hurt to continue the agonizing song and dance, he found himself slipping back into their new routine.

“How are you feeling this morning?”

Ohm moved the eggs from the pan to the plates. He turned to show Tyler his mobility range. He groaned as he stretched out his arms and moved them in small circles. He flashed a pained grin and for a second Tyler could have sworn he saw a ghost of the man he used to know resurface. But only for a moment. Then he was gone again.

“Still hurts but not as bad. I think I can go without painkillers again.”

“The fever?”

“Gone. For now it's gone. The last of the stitches fell out last night. The puss has cleared up and everything's back to a healthy color. I wanted to air them out before I applied new bandages. Give it a chance to close and heal.”

Tyler nodded. His eyes fell to follow Ohm’s arms, settling on the wrist where the handcuffs had bitten into him too tight. In the beginning the doctors worried that he'd lose the hand entirely. The worry died down after Ohm woke up and proved he still had voluntary mobility. However, last week the worry returned when his stitches got infected. They weren't out of the barn just yet but they were getting there. Day by day they were getting there and getting better. 

The pan sizzled to life. The dogs gave out a needy whine begging with all of their might. Ohm hadn't given them the eggs but maybe they'd get lucky with the bacon. Once two strips were browned enough, Ohm gladly relented them to the patient and behaved dogs. Both took off to enjoy their treats near their food dishes. Tyler watched them trot off with a growing joy. It was evident that Ohm still wasn't sleeping but he was in a better mood. That was a good start to things he supposed. Better than nothing. 

“I need you to drop Sophie off at school today I have an appointment with a head trauma client.”

“I can do that.”

“Good, because I've walked from this house to her school and my God it's exhausting. Add to that the weight of that backpack of hers and it's practically child cruelty.”

Tyler chuckled at the comment. Ohm wasn't kidding. He'd walked the dogs that way once and worried he'd have to call himself an ambulance. He'd worked in the field for years, spent even longer overseas. He really should be considered a fit and well built man and yet that God awful hill made him feel like he was 98 with a bum leg and a heart condition not to be taken lightly. The dogs couldn't agree more. 

Ohm topped off the plates with the finished breakfast. He set the table and called down the still sleeping child. Her groggy footsteps could be heard slowly making their way towards the smell of food. She didn't get past her door in time to catch Ohm disappear out the front. He was in the car before Sophie and Tyler had both taken their seats. And just like that he was gone and Tyler felt alone again. This morning had been better, Ohm spoke more than just two sentences and yet he felt as if they still weren't getting anywhere.

Home was not the only place that was different. 

The office had been full of whispers. The once hateful stares he'd gotten only weeks before had shifted. Every face twisted differently when he walked into view. He saw everything, pity, disbelief, sorrow, amusement, all if it. He found it easy to ignore all of the judgement cast upon him and walked calmly and professionally into his own office. Already seated inside was a young man who wore a deviant smirk. 

“Sorry I'm late,” he announced upon stepping into his own office. He shut the door behind him and took a seat. The boy nodded dismissively, unable to admit that he'd only beaten Ohm to the office by a minute at most. He watched the doctor settle down and equip himself with his usual notepad and dying pen. “Last we talked you said that you were still having trouble sleeping and believed that vision was returning to your right eye. Did you keep a sleep chart like I asked?”

The boy promolty displayed his neat and tidy board he'd made a week prior. He grinned with great pride at how pretty he'd made it. Animal stickers ran wild along a sloppily painted frame. It looked as if a small child had been given the task of making a personalized tablet case. It was...creative to say in the least. And as lovely as the decorations were, it was the contents that disappointed the poor doctor.

“Three am...six pm...11 something pm...Your sleep cycle isn't healthy. The lack of a system is probably adding to your stress and the stress adds to the visions. What have you tried to help you sleep?”

The boy shrugged. What hadn't he tried? Tea, herbs, aromas, a message once, switched out his mattress, fuck he was out of ideas. 

“I can write a recommendation for you to get help from a neurologist. They can perform tests that I can't that might get you some answers. As far as I can see, you've followed all of my instructions and nothing thus far has helped. Which further confirms my suspicions that the injury goes beyond the eye and into the brain. Don't take my word for it just yet, for now this is just speculation, but it's something to consider.”

“If,” the boy started not sure where it was he wanted to go with his sentence only now that he was speaking it, “If I go to the neurologist and take the tests...then everything becomes...I don't know, real. Like they'll tell me that I'm crazy and put me on a conveyor belt of pills or something. I dunno I guess I was just hoping that this was just something psychological. Like my head making things up to cope or something. I thought that if I changed my behavior then it would go away. Now I'm scared it won't.”

“If it is neurological then there's a chance we can help stop this faster,” Ohm pointed out. The other scrunched his face at that.

“Yeah, but at what cost? If it is behavioral then I spend a couple thousand tops on creating a more controlled environment. If it's real then I spend a couple thousand a month for medications just to feel normal again. And I guess it's my skewed perspective of what's fair that's telling me that I shouldn't have to pay my life away just to function in society.”

Ohm opened his mouth to comment but was silenced when the office door swung open. Jonathan happily let himself inside, eyes glued to the papers he clutched. All three in that room looked as if they could all use a nice cup of coffee but none really should be adding to the stress that the extra caffeine would add to their hearts. 

“Good, you're here. Can I just confirm something with you real fast? There's a faded oblique displaced fracture on your left ulna. Was your arm twisted to the point of breaking at some point because I can't think of anything else that could cause such an injury?”

He glanced up to see before him the doctor and his client. Both their stares hit him hard and he was instantly overwhelmed with embarrassment. The client stared at the intruder curiously. 

Thus far, he'd seen only well dressed agents. Everyone around him looked fully capable of end his life with a twitch of their wrists. This man? He greatly doubted this man could so much as bruise him. To add to this man's nonthreatening size, he also lacked the official looking suit everyone else was adorned in. Everyone was dressed sharply, even the janitors. Now here stood before him what he could only describe as a clown. Somehow even that felt too dignified for this man. It humored him. 

Jonathan welcomed the smile the boy gave. It was rare for any of Ohm’s clients to be so polite. One time, Jon had interrupted a session with a fellow agent and the man chucked his coffee at him. All Jon wanted to do was give Ohm the case file to help narrow down the suspect list. That shirt still had a stain no cleaning service could eradicate. 

Ohm offered the half bland boy an apology tic grin before turning to address Jon. As if his office wasn't already crowded enough, another agent stepped in with a light knock.

“Doctor? The director is here and she needs to speak with you.”

“Shit,” Ohm muttered under his breath. 

The past month had not been kind to Ohm. Being kidnapped and left to die on a roof had thoroughly derailed his life. He'd been lucky that the building had been having a problem with their elevator. A maintenance man had been called to assess the control room. This had been over two days since Ohm had been left to rot besides the stripped and mutilated corpse. The poor maintenance man had mistook both to be dead. You can probably imagine the fright the man had when Ohm let out a croaked call for help promptly before passing out. 

He'd been taken to the nearest emergency room and for nearly half a day he teatered between the land of the living and the afterlife. Finally the doctors stabilized him but only after a series of seizures and the removal of a starved and inefficient kidney. He spent four days as a John Doe in the hospital while in a medical coma. When awoke, voice strained and quiet against the tube down his throat, he'd forgotten what he'd changed his last name to in the recent decade of his life. He continued to give the doctors a name of a man who no longer existed and for this reason alone he remained to be essentially an unclaimed John Doe. After 9 days from his arrival to the hospital he was finally able to get his own name right and along with it his emergency contact. 

He'd been missing for 9 days by the time he was finally able to call Tyler. He was 47 miles away from home but he was alive! 

This had harmed him physically and mentally and everyone knew it. The bureau had given him a month off to recover before taking his gun and prohibiting him any field work until he passed both the psych evaluation and the physical fitness test. While he hadn't been allowed any field work, he returned to work immediately. He returned to the one thing he knew best. Once again his office was alive with a steady flow of agents. He knew he was pushing it. He knew that he really wasn't ready to go back to work, but he needed the distraction. He'd gotten away with it for almost a week. His superior was lenient. The director? Not so much. 

“Jon, would you mind waiting just a moment? I'll be right back,” he lied before trotting out of the room, leaving no room for Jon to answer him at all.

Suddenly the room fell quiet. The half blind boy watched Jonathan as the osteologist hesitantly stole the doctor’s seat. The silence between the two dragged on for an uncomfortable stretch of time before Jonathan relented and shattered the stillness with an awkward, “You come here often?”

Ohm knew that his job would suffer due to recent events. He knew that he'd likely never see field work again. He entered the director’s office fully prepared to be told only the worst news. 

The director smiled at Ohm, waving him into her office from the comfort of her desk. She was not alone in her lush office. A tall man stood off to the side. The other man threw Ohm for a loop. If the director wanted to be rid of him, what purpose did this lanky man serve?

She beaconed both to take a seat. Both did so without question. She eyed the two for a moment before at last speaking.

“Dr. Ohm, this is our newest agent, Nogla. I know that you're in no position to re-enter your old work habits, but I can tell you're getting antsy. I thought I'd help ease you back into your old role. Nogla’s no stranger to how things work. He was an astounding cadet, or so his supervisor explained, and I have no doubt that he will be a fine addition to your team. I was going to have Wilds train him, however he's recently been assigned a large case that I really shouldn't distract him from. I was hoping that you'd be so kind as to be the one who trains our newest Agent.”

Oh, thought Ohm. Oh. He glanced at the man seated besides him and thought over all of what his director had just said. He knew exactly what case Tyler had just been assigned. He knew exactly why he'd never get to work it. He knew exactly why he'd been chosen to train Nogla and it wasn't to help ease him back into an old routine. Still, it was a far better distraction than the constant flow of psych evaluations he'd been asked to assist with. He turned back to his director and nodded. She smiled at the unspoken response and Nogla got to his feet. Ohm moved to follow after his new trainee but was stopped by the director. She waited until Nogla had cleared the room to continue their discussion.

“That's not the only reason I wanted to speak with you,” she began. “I've gotten a call from D.C. they have a position currently in need of filling that I think you'd excel at. There's been an opening among their elite team of profilers. It's a desk job, no field work, and you'd be saddled with a team of about 20 others. It's quiet and more up your alley.” 

She then handed over the file containing the job offer. Ohm took the offer into his own hands, unable to believe what he'd just heard. This was a hell of an offer! 

“I'm not asking you to make a decision today. I'll give you a month to mull it over. Between you and me, I'd take this. Right! Well, that's all I needed to discuss with you.” She glanced out her office window at their newest agent and frowned, “Good luck.”

“Good luck?” The words barely left his mouth before he heard the clatter of what was a working copy machine quickly and clumsily become a very broken one. He turned to see the cause of the noise, alarmed, and watched as Nogla struggled to collect the mound of papers he'd sent scattering across the floor. The copy machine was hissing out it's dying buzz and as if it had become possessed by an angry ghost it began spitting up more papers. 

That's a shame, Ohm thought, they’d just got that thing fixed too. That's when it dawned on him that this training thing wasn't at all going to be easy. This new dread rapidly chased away all excitement the job offer had previously given him. He almost wished he'd been fired instead. Almost.


	2. Two

Brock stared at the cadaver laid before them on the cold metal table. He'd seen thousands of bodies in his career, a thousand dead eyed faces, and they all stuck with him. He could see them in his dreams, gorey and lifeless but mobile. He knew it was childish but it spurred a near paralyzing fear of zombies. This phobia made movie nights difficult particularly around Halloween when that was all Marcel wanted to watch. 

The man who's soon be featured in his nightmares was none other than one Owen Manning; a once successful producer for a small but beloved theater just south of the Oregon border. The lacerations around his wrists and ankles matched Ohm's, though, these hadn't at all been tended to and had festered gruesomely. He was relieved in some immoral way that he never had to see the corpse as fresh as the others had. Instead he got to see the rib splitters neatly nestled in the man's chest exposing a gaping cavity where the lungs once sat. He grimaced at the thought of why the lungs had been removed. 

Slowly he tore his eyes away from the dead man to look up wearily towards his boyfriend who'd began mumbling to himself again. 

"Love?" He asked softly. 

Marcel glanced over towards Brock with a soft coo of curiosity before instantly returning to his grumblings. 

"Is...is there anything knew?"

"That's just it, Brock. Everything's new. Here-" he turned and pulled the other aside so as to show him his binder full of their past notes. He hurried through his hasty words and landed at last on his comparisons. "These first men, they all fit a certain pattern, that's why we dubbed the killer as a serial killer in the first place. Wealthy, successful, brunet, men not from this state. Single. They...they were courted. Our killer took his time to get to know them, to lure them away from where they felt safest."

Brock knew about that. He'd and Smitty had found this together. The first man had a long series of text messages where in he had been lovingly adored with near poetry and flattery. Dates and places, dates and more complements. Brock couldn't blame the man for trusting this other, it was quite romantic. And yet they found a box of letters all containing the same flattering poetry, the same dates and the same complements in the closet of the second murdered man. And the third? Why, he had been adorned with a collection of gifts, watches, tickets to games, a new camera, a lense, attached to each a lovely little post it note with the exact same scripture. 

"These men," Marcel went on, "Knew their killer. They loved them. The killer was able to get to them because of this. But him?" And here he pointed a pen over his shoulder towards the man behind them. "He was just taken. No poetry, no flattery, noting! He was dating a girl, they we're going on strong, he'd bought a ring! But the injuries are identical. The MO is exactly the same in every way. And Ohm! Dating, no interaction, no poetry-"

"Are we sure? I haven't gone through his phone records yet."

Marcel truerned rather slowly to face Brock. He loved this man, there was no doubt about that in his mind. Still, however blind love was, it didn't hide the fact that at times Brock said the craziest things. 

"Turtledove?"

"Hm?"

"This is Ohm we're talking about. What secrets can he actually have?"

"Well for one thing, Ohm isn't his actual name so...I'd say a lot."

Marcel opened his mouth to say something but stopped himself before the words ever even reached the back of his tongue. He shrugged it off and returned to his original point.

"Anyways, the kill is the same down to the odd costumes and the strange places they left the bodies. What doesn't tie them together would be this stray from routine."

"Ask Ohm."

"I can't. Directors orders, he's been removed from the case. He's involved in it now, legally his hands, and now ours, are tied."

"I don't know any other psychologists."

"Luckily you don't have to. The director's found us a temporary replacement. Just for this case."

Brock frowned. There were too many new faces now involved. Who knew one little fumble in their dance of a well oiled and efficient team could spring up so many issues. 

"That reminds me, Smitty's been doing extraordinary beneath our mentorship that they elected to send another due to the fact that Smitty's been offered several job opportunities," Marcel rapidly added. 

"We're getting another intern and losing our one good one?"

"Well not yet, see I haven't told Smitty yet."

"Told me what?" 

And with that, the two turned to see Smitty making his way up the steps holding a large crate of papers. He gently set them on the table and did his best to ignore the body besides him. He watched as Marcel's face ran pale and Brock shuffled from foot to foot.

Of course this was stupendous news! It was phenomenal that their little intern had gathered such support. That meant that he was good. Truth be told, the team had considered just giving the kids a job here, raise his pay and give him a proper title with real responsibilities so as not to over work him. But as much as it hurt to admit, they simply couldn't afford to compete with the goddamn Smithsonian! It was a great pride for there little lab, indeed, but a great loss as well. 

Marvel fumbled for the right words and failed completely to find them so he gave up!

"That we...are giving you help! He should be here before the hours out."

Smitty's face dropped too. He looked from Brock to Marcel with a pleading look, his mind racing wild with every single mistake he'd made, every eye roll he'd earned because of it, and how he knew that they'd get sick of him it was just a matter of when. The time was here. He was being replaced. Oh God! And he really liked this job too! 

"I'll uh. I'll go pack my bags."

"What? No! No! We just hired another intern. You're not going anywhere." He hoped. They just had to make sure that Smitty liked this place far more than he could possibly like Washington D.C! 

"I have to share an office?!"

"No actually we're relocating you."

"You're moving my office?!"

"Closer to the break room if that makes things a little more appealing, but yes, we are. One with windows and an actual door."

Smitty frowned at his boss. He wasn't the brightest in some social situations but he wasn't a dolt either. This was some grade A, undeniable ass kissing. That's what this was. Like when parents suddenly start being extra nice to their only kid all of a sudden while Mom starts gaining weight, talking about how they'd be tasked with new responsibilities, and how important it was that they know how much they're loved and how nothing could possibly change that. He felt like he was a little kid all over again and he wasn't certain if he wanted this event to copy his past. He was an only child then and remained to be an only child as his mother had, sadly, miscarried four months in. Maybe this new intern would leave four months in! 

Then again. He'd been excited to learn he'd be a big brother just as he was excited not to be the coffee boy anymore. Finally Craig and Luke would have someone new to prank mercilessly. While he was on this optimistic train of thought, he considered how he might be able to use this sudden spurt of Marcel's generosity to his advantage.

"Windows?"

"They have shades and they can open."

"A door?" Also with shades and it locks."

"....carpet or tile?"

"Tile. Swivel chair friendly and stain repellent." That last part was a lie. Give the boy a day and he'd somehow manage to spill something that would never come out no matter how much soap was used. Smitty made Mr. Clean want to quit. Marcel doubted heavily that Smitty's parents ever got any of their deposits back when renting a house.

"Do I have to train them?"

"It'll be a group effort."

"Alright fine."

Marcel smiled, beamed really. Brock stifled a chuckle to himself at the sight of his dorky ass husband, gathering what files he needed and hopping off of the platform. He knew that Like was anxiously awaiting for these. He had a theory he wanted to test out apparently. He gave a nod to Evan as the two passed. Poor Evan. If he wasn't thrilled when they got Smitty, he certainly wouldn't be thrilled now. 

Evan ran his card through and stepped on to the platform, happy that they'd finally gotten that damned thing fixed. He threw on a pair of gloves and returned to hovering over the body. 

"Marcel, are our tox screens back yet?"

"Yes! Tested negative for everything save for marijuana usage. He wasn't drugged."

"No, not his. Ohm's." Evan sighed, aggravated beyond belief that morning and began to Scrabble for his magnifying glasses. 

"Oh tested positive for gamma hydroxybutyric. He was given quite the dosage too. It's a miracle he hadn't slipped into a coma."

Marcel pointed towards the screen upon pulling up the reports. He quickly jot something down in his notes and scowled.

"None of our other victims had any traces of it though."

That was problematic. Usually these kinds of killers didn't let their MO slip so far. The more new things they attempted, the more room there was for a mistake. 

"Any other discrepancies?"

"Between Ohm and the others or-"

"In general, Marcel. Anything at all that could make the higher ups hesitant in calling it a serial killer. We have a problem, Marcel, one such problem that's taken to kidnapping people on our team. I want him behind bars! Now! Are there any other discrepancies?"

There were many. MO had changed, location had changed, leaving Ohm alive had changed. Still, there had to be a reason for that. 

"I have Luke looking into their social lives. Of course that's useless without having anyone to analyse it for us."

"I thought Ohm was back?"

"He is, ges just been removed from the case."

"Oh good. We're out our psych, our osteoporosis expert, and Tyler too now huh?"

"No, Tyler has remained on the case this far. And while we're down a bit, we are getting two new helping hands."

Marcel bit into his lip and watched Evan tense. The man gripped his scalpel so tight it made his rubber gloves squeak funny. He felt bad for the man. This had been an exhausting case and it had everyone on edge. 

The elephant was in the room, it had been for a while, but now everyone was allowing themselves to stare at it. They were all worried for each other and for themselves. So much so that they went home in pairs. Even that was dangerous. To add to the bodies that they now had to worry about, it was too much.

"Helping hands?"

"A new intern and I've been told they're flying in a consultant within the month."

"A new intern? What's wrong with Smitty? The kid knows what he's doing, Marcel, he doesn't need help. What's the phrase? Too many cooks in the kitchen? I don't want another intern!"

"You didn't want Smitty either but he's already been approved and! And. He hasn't been assigned this case. You won't have to work with him. The bureau wants to train Smitty more in field work. They want him on this case but they want him prepared. Meanwhile we have a closet of unsolved cases that continues to grow on us and we need help."

Evan groaned. He could understand that. He thought it was smart actually but of course he'd never admit it. He still hated the idea of more people to remember and work with. 

"When do they arrive then?"

"He starts tomorrow, but he's going to be here today so that I can show him around first. That should give you a chance to meet him without the stress of him fucking up your work."

"Marcel, for once I'd appreciate it if you told me these things before the last possible second."

"You know exactly why I can't do that, Dr. Fong!" 

That forced a smile onto Evan's face. He playfully slapped Marcel on the arm before stopping at the spleen. He frowned at the sight. He struggled to get closer and upon failing, he chose to hunt down a stronger lense. Finally he grabbed the camera and adjusted it to see the off find on the monitor screen.

"Marcy?"

"Evan, my boy, I've told you a million times not to call me that. Next time you do, it'll be you on this operating table."

"No, shut up. Look at this." 

He fumbled blindly for Marcle's sleeve, missing it completely and instead grabbing Marcel's ass, or damn near it. The unwarranted touch startled Marcel and for a second he forgot where he was an who he was with. He was slung shot far away from the lab, back in his living room listening to the radio and Brock was there. Very suddenly, almost capable of giving him whiplash, he was back in the lab and feverishly confused as to who had touched him if it wasn't his loving boyfriend and soon to be fiance, Brock. 

"Look!" Evan order again.

Marcel, flushed a bright red, glanced about anxiously to see if anyone had seen the accidental groping. He make awkward eye contact with Sark and lowered his head in shame and embarrassment. 

"What?"

"Here, look! Look, what's that there?"

Marcel squinted at the screen. He pursed his lips as his mind tumbled trying to figure out what he was looking at. Finally it hit him.

"Is that a needle?"

"Hand me that tray please?"

Marcel hurried to do as asked while Evan carefully began to wiggle the little bit of perfectly cylindrical shrapnel from the dead man's body. Marcel stared puzzled at it.

"It's a rather odd color for a needle, don't you think?"

"Quite. That's why I want Craig on it as soon as possible. Figure out what it is and then check to see if the others had it."

Marcel nodded once and rushed off, passing Tyler as he fled. The agent watched, caught with curiosity for a second before returning to the task he'd been assigned. He gave Sark a wave hello and leaned up against the platform railing. 

"Hey. Just a head's up, we have another case hot and ready. The bureau is going to steal Smitty and your new intern for it. That aside, I'm all yours. What do you need?"

"Coffee."

"Double Espresso, skim milk, and extra cream?"

"You know me too well," Evan grumbled, moving to try and spot any other small punctures in the body.

Tyler sighed heavily. Some cases were stressful, that was the nature of their job. Still he'd never seen Evan so worked up over a case before. Then again, no case had really threatened the whole lot of them as this one had. Truth be told, he was just glad that his partner was taking the case so seriously. It validated his own seething frustrations. With that fleeting thought, he committed himself to following Evan's every command, no matter how trivial. He was useless until they had some suspects anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn it's been a while! Alright! Gonna shoot for a regular Tuesday update again. I'm also working on going through and editing the first two parts of this story. It's a disaster. With a little luck, I won't have to rewrite the whole thing! Anyway, thanks to those who stuck by me even through this awful time gap. Let me know if you'd like more I guess :)


	3. Three

Nogla tapped his pen against the cold marble counter over and over and over again. All the while his leg continued to bounce, keeping in time with the clack clack clacking of the pen. Add this to the steady ticks and tocks of the clock just above their heads and Ohm was worried that he'd snap. One, two, three, he began, counting every time all three struck at the same time. The lanky man besides him didn't seem to realize he was doing anything wrong. Truly he hadn't done anything wrong. Restless leg syndrome wasn't an uncommon thing and this was his first real case so the fidgeting was simply some first day jitters. Ohm could understand and respect that and yet he still found it undeniably irritating in every sense of the word!

Seven, eight, nine. 

A soft voice shattered the stillness of the office. Ohm nearly snapped his neck when he turned to see who had joined them. 

A smaller man with sandy hair and stunning blue eyes stood nervously at the front desk. His disheveled hair and twisted satchel strap only added to how young he looked. He was older than Smitty, or maybe his stubble gave that illusion, but younger than both Nogla and Ohm or perhaps that was the complete lack of smile lines the boy had. At first glance, the kid looked as though he was just lost and Ohm had half the mind to ignore him. Then the fluorescent lights above hit the laminated badge at his breast pocket and Ohm relinquished his undivided attention to the boy. 

He swiftly rose to his feet, snatching Nogla's roaming attention, and crossed the length of distance between them. Quickly he offered his hand out and smiled.

"Dr. Ohm. I assume you're Scotty then."

"Yes. For a moment I was worried I had the wrong place," the kid mumbled. He took the doctor's hand in a weak handshake. 

Instinctively Ohm profiled him. Palms were sweaty and warm. He was nervous. Nails we're jagged and short, evidence of anxious nail biting that suggested he was anxious often. His eyes darted here and there, he was overwhelmed in his new environment and the inability to make eye contact made Ohm think that perhaps he was intimidated by the company he currently kept. Ohm's smile softened. So many new recruits were the exact same. Only, this boy didn't have nearly as much to worry about. He was far less likely to get killed on the job. 

"I'm glad you made it here alright. Uh, Scotty this is Agent Nogla. Nogla, Scotty. Smitty should be here any second now, he's stuck in traffic." 

He turned sharply on his heel and lead Scotty back over towards the counter where Nogla remained seated at. The agent grinned widely from ear to ear, opting to wave instead if shake hands with the trembling intern. Scotty was silently thankful for this gesture. 

He was also perturbed as he'd spent his whole life under the impression that the FBI was filled with essentially "Men in Black" agents all equipped with specialized equipment and gear and sworn to secrecy in order to protect the people. These two just looked like dorks. The kind of dorks who probably got swirlies instead of prom dates in high school. Good! He'd fit right in. 

Before Scotty could so much as pull out his stool to sit as well, Ohm had pushed two Manilla folder into both of the newbie's hands. 

Nogla knew a case file when he saw one, he wasn't born yesterday so it amused him greatly to see it scrawled out atop the little tab on the side. Inside the folder was a considerably large stack of papers. The agent fished out his reading glasses and scowled down at the papers before him.

The first thing he was met with was the official case file number, and the agent assigned to it. Besides that was the barcode that he never really understood the purpose of but wasn't about to ask about. The rest of the file was left blank. 

"I'm aware that this isn't your first rodeo, Agent Nogla, but I think it would be good practice for you if you approached this case the same way you would in your previous training practices. Scotty, this is your first rodeo so I'm going to ask you first. Where do we start?"

"Uh?" 

He fought to keep his breakfast in his stomach and almost panicked when it reached his throat. He swallowed thickly to force it back down. He honestly thought that he'd have been stuck in some dingy little lab somewhere being told to go through poop. He wasn't a field agent! Why was he out here?

"Inspect the crime scene?"

"Nogla?" Ohm asked, not confirming or denying Scotty's answer. 

Nogla straighten his back and threw on his best serious face, one of which he'd practiced all of the night prior. "Meet with the officer assigned to this case and acquire as much information from them as possible. Ask questions, take notes, ask more questions."

Ohm nodded with a pleased smile. He gestured for Nogla to lead the way. The new agent smiled warmly at Scotty, well aware that a good work relationship required actual work. He figured he'd start by filling in the frightened intern seeing as Ohm had next to no intention.

"We're going in to meet with Miles Copperfield. He found the victim this morning and he's a little shaken."

"Anything on the victim yet?" Scott asked, falling out of his skittish shell and landing head first in a productive state of mind.

"See that's the thing about car manufacturing machinery, it grinds up a body the same way a mincer mulches beef!"

The hallowed look that slowly crept across the youngest of the trio's face was one Nogla would not soon forget. He hissed to himself and took note not to repeat such analogies again. So long as he could remember. 

"Anyway...how good are you at identifying only bits and pieces of a person?"

Scotty stopped walking and looked anxiously over to the eldest of the trio for some sign that Nogla was joking and almost puked when he got no such confirmation. He regret having eaten that bagel on his way in to work. 

"I uh, well it depends on what's still intact?"

At that moment, both Ohm and Nogla groaned quietly and Scotty sent a soft prayer that his stomach would hold strong! He braced himself and watched as Nogla pushed open the large swinging doors. 

The Tesla car factory wasn't usually one for it's phantasmal display of gleaming cleanliness, or it's all around stupendous force of chipper and polite workers, nor it's soft whiting and humming of the machinery. Quite the opposite actually. Plumes of gunk would be clogging the city sky line and the blaring of car horns would often harmonize with the clamor inside the busy building. 

It was overwhelming. 

Scotty clutched his satchel ever closer to his chest and struggled to remain behind Nogla and in front of Ohm so as not to accidentally get in the way of anyone without flat-tiring his coworker. Thrice he failed. 

Finally the three reached a section of the factory where in most of the machine had been blocked off by yellow police tape and had a cop stationed outside of it to prevent any of the employees from getting too close. Nogla flashed his badge and Ohm rushed forward to flip it right side up. 

"Is Miles still round?" He asked pretending not to notice his mistake. 

The officer gestured back behind him. Oh pressed forward, not one for asking the unarmed guards for information on the case at hand as usually they were under informed and had nothing more than romors to offer. They did more harm than good. He hoped that his March would clue in the others to follow his lead. He was sadly mistaken.

Nogla quickly whipped out his notepad and pen and threw on his best professional face. He cleared his throat and let his voice drop not one, but two octaves. 

"Which officer should I contact for the complete and current case file?"

Scotty stepped around the two, far more interested in the machine that had been forced to a full stop in its productivity. The scene he was met by was one he would forever see in his nightmares from that night on. He moved to get closer to the conveyor belt meant to staple cloth or leather onto the car's seats. It looked as though someone had tried to turn a human into bubble gum or had put them through a taffy puller. He squinted at the mess of flesh and bone, unable to figure out where to even start. Nothing looked remotely close to a skull. 

Ohm stood perfectly still staring dead eyed at the carnage. Scotty wondered if he should ask him any questions or leave him be. Before he could make up his mind, a fourth rushed to join the first three. Smitty paid Nogla no mind, nor did he so much as glance at the new intern most likely to replace him. He passed Ohm without a second thought.

"Can we get clearance to bring this machine back to the lab? I won't be able to get everything in this environment," he asked no one in particular. 

Ohm nodded mindlessly, having already called it in and expecting a team to stop by before the next hour was out. He stepped over to see what had snatched up Smitty's attention.

He had to admit, he was proud and impressed with Smitty. Two months ago he had puked himself ten pounds lighter at the mere sight of a headless woman's nude torso. Now here he was, nose just inches away from what Ohm could only assume was once the victim's lower intestinal region with a pair of tweezers and a small petri dish.

"When was the body found?"

"5:36 am, according to the cameras," Nogla answered, having gotten nothing actually useful from the officer at charge and now eager to help out. 

"Who found him?"

"Milo Copperfield."

"Miles," Ohm corrected.

Smitty nodded and plucked away a small nail from the soft and now browning flesh and added to the petri dish. He fumbled for his camera and began to snap shots of the places he was unable to reach in his current working conditions. He frowned at what he found and moved to show Scotty and Ohm what he'd found.

"Tooth or skull fragment?"

"Tooth," Scotty answered without hesitance. Smitty squinted and tilted his head.

"Good. Good. Ok. And here?" 

And with that the two tuned the world out and began to feverishly collaborate on what all they've found and what more there was to find. Ohm grinned at the sight and turned to Nogla.

"While they're busy with the crime scene, I've had a break room outfitted for some on sight interrogations." 

Nogla nodded, almost unable to pull his eyes off of the body chunks. He was perturbed, to say in the least as while Scotty had identified the odd bit as a tooth, he honestly thought that they'd found a toe or something. It was all that red goo that kept throwing him for a loop and the smell of it did not help in the slightest. He followed Ohm feeling far less confident and quickly dreading taking up this position. He knew that people could do horrible things to one another, he knew that he'd see awful things, this was no secret it was in the job description and yet he was stunned that this was what he'd been given as a starting point. Not some body in a ditch, or a corpse in a garbage bin, but this terribly display of man vs. machine.

"Why do we suspect foul play?" He asked sheepishly. "Couldn't we check the tapes?"

"Tape reports will be included with the Sheriff's police report. To save you some time, I'll just say that unfortunately, no camera had any angle on the murder. The only thing we can see in the door, where Miles enters at 05:36:59 and then promptly ran back through at 05:36:02." 

"And the foul play?"

"Look at this place. Railings keep people penned up like they're in a zoo, caution signs are everywhere, the floor is textured to prevent slips and falls. It would take one extremely unlikely and unlucky accident to have caused this. Well, that and we have good reason to believe that five individuals were extremely late to leave on several occasions. Last night was no exception."

Nogla hummed in response. This didn't sound like it would be too terribly difficult if a case then. It was either as Ohm said, one unlucky and unlikely accident, or one or more of these alleged four individuals. 

Ohm knocked on the break room door about two seconds before letting himself in. Nogla followed closely behind. Of the aforementioned five, only four were seated before them.

Nogla glanced down at the file he'd been given and proceeded to jot down a few scribbles. 

White male, mid to late thirties, blonde, blue eyes, short hair, facial hair, small build. White male, mid to late twenties, brown hair, brown eyes, short hair, facial hair, heavier build. White male, mid to late twenties, dark brown hair, brown eyes, heavier build. Black male, early to mid twenties, black shirt, brown eyes, medium build. Besides each spurt of notes he left just enough room for a name.

Ohm had began speaking at that point.

"Sorry to trouble you gentleman this morning. I'm Agent Ryan Ohmwrecker, FBI. This is my partner Agent Daithi Nogla, FBI, do you mind if we ask you a few questions?"

"What if we say no? Are we ok to leave? Do I have to speak to you? Should I have a lawyer present?" 

Nogla glanced up from his notes to see which of the four had spoken. The skinny white guy had spoken, slow and cocky. He was testing them. Nogla wanted nothing more than to strong arm him and remind him just who he was talking to, but Ohm had already proceeded.

"No, you don't need to stay. If we could only get your name and a number to contact you at, you're free to go." 

Nogla stared wide eyes and confused at Ohm. He said nothing because he knew that what Oh had said had been true. Legally they couldn't hold them. It didn't make the man look good but it could be done.

"Good. Hutch. South area code. 2576309. Maybrid Pines Apartments, 401." 

The man quickly for to his feet and them slowly moved his way past the agents taking time to look back over his shoulder and glare at the agents. 

Ohm took Nogla's files and scribbled down his own notes before handing them back just as fast. He smiled warmly at the others.

"I also would like to have your names and how to contact you."

He gestured towards the one on the end opposite of where Hutch had been.

"D.J. east Highlands Ranch. Lot 183. Phone's disconnected till I can pay the bill. Call my neighbor at North area code, 8042664."

"Mark. My buddies call me Marksman. Broomfield, Lorde street, 1943. North area code. 2024382."

"I'm Anthony. Greeley, Maple avenue. South area code 563092." 

Ohm smiled once more and then excused himself, prompting Nogla to follow after him. This only confused the new agent more than earlier. This was not how this was supposed to go. On their way back Nogla pulled Ohm aside, struggling to mask his anger and having forgotten who it was he was talking to, failed miserably.

"What was that about? You just let a suspect get away! Of those four, Hutch was-"

"Hutch is a shady man, sure. But his lack for concern and his puffy chest shows that he struggles with authority figures. He wants to prove himself to his friends, maybe to hide his grief, but not to hide his guilt. He's done something illegal in his life but this murder was not one of those things. Our killer was one of the last three in that room. Take a gander at who?"

"How do you know? You spoke to him for three seconds!"

"And in those three seconds I saw that he continue to look back towards the others. He made it intentional that they saw when he made eye contact with me. He tried to make eye contact with you too, but you were busy. That made him mad. That's when he snapped at us. He couldn't be the biggest guy in the room. He's self-centered and has an inflated ego, sure. But the red and puffy eyes, slight trembling breaths, the heavy sigh, he's in morning. He's angry he just lost his friend, he probably blames himself, and he's trying not to show himself as vulnerable. He's used to being the strong one. It was a show of force for someone in the anger stage of dealing with loss. Anyone could have seen that."

He thought for a second, amazed that Ohm had gotten all that in five seconds flat. He'd been unable to completely spell out Anthony's name and Ohm had eliminated a possible suspect. Judging by the gleam in his eyes, he had done more than just eliminate a suspect, he'd solved who'd done it. That infuriated Nogla. He bit back his anger and forced a smile. 

"And how can you tell that our killer was in that room?"

"If you'd taken the time to actually look at our suspects, you would have noticed that one of them was a little too sad. The others looked scared, exhausted, sorrowful, yes, but this one looked to be just sad. No other emotion. And they were very bad at trying to look it too. Pay attention to people's faces while you interrogate them. You'll find that just about everyone spills their secrets with their eyes."

Satisfied with his scolding, Ohm moved onward to rejoin the interns. He was quite pleased to find that both had found much of what they needed. They rushed towards their supervisor equally excited, almost concerningly so. 

"Ohm! Victim was male!"

"What tells you that?"

"I found his penis," Scotty answered quietly, his head down and refusing to make eye contact, "Or what was left if it." 

The men shuddered, all in pain and not at all envious of the death that befell this poor bastard.

Smitty, not at all a fan of this sudden phantom pain, pulled both Scotty and Ohm back over to the machine and began pointing with his little finger as he spoke.

"I'll need to get all of these nails removed from the victim before I can be certain, but some of these broken bones show more damage than this machine is capable of. Here, see this tibula? I've never seen anything decimated in such a way. All the other bones in the area aren't damaged to this degree. Of course, I'll need to study the equipment and learn for sure which parts of it exert the most force to ensure that I'm not just making up injuries."

Ohm hummed in response. He wasn't well versed with their world of investigating. That was Evan and Jon's area of expertise. He did however trust Smitty's judgment as the boy had successfully solved a case rather recently on his own. He turned then to Scotty, to see if their newest on the team had found anything else.

"The skull is fractured beyond recognition, teeth scattered, it'll take us weeks to reconstruct it, days if we're lucky. There's no chance we can get a positive I'd off of dental records. But! I found a wallet!"

Scotty held up his gloved hand and thus exposed the leather bound and goopy wallet.

"Victim's name was Legion. Well, his last name was. There's damage to the ID card, the first name is gone. But we have his state issued ID number."

"ID's can be falsified, but well done nonetheless," Ohm congratulated the both of them. "We'll have this all sent back to the Marsh where you two can work privately. Ask Jon for help if you must but try not to bother Evan."

"Yes sir."

Unable to do much else, Ohm left the three to finish up, more than certain of their abilities.

He sat in his car for a while, not sure where to go. There was no point in going back to his office, he hadn't any new appointments, and it was very unlikely anyone from the Marsh would call up and ask for confirmation on a possible suspect. He could go home. But he felt that he'd go made staring at those walls all day again. He didn't feel safe just sitting in his own car. No, he wanted to be in a place with witnesses. 

That's how he found himself at Momed.   
He sat alone at the booth, toying with his phone and with a button on the cuff of his shirt. The thought of calling up typer crossed his mind and he had half the heart to follow through with this selfish want but he stopped himself all too certain that Tyler was up to his elbows in the serial killer case and didn't exactly have time for Ohm at the second. So he instead sent through to his old voicemails just to hear Tyler's voice. 

Someone knocked lightly on the wood of his table. He looked up, not sure who he should be expecting but not at all trusting his sudden company, an issue he'd found himself struggling to smother since he woke up in the hospital. His hand flew to his pocket where he'd started keeping a small but efficient pocket knife. Upon recognizing who it was, he forgot about the weapon and smiled.

"Sark! What brings you down here?"

"Just got off work, wanted to grab some dinner. You back at the office yet?"

Ohm gestured for Sark to take the seat in front of him which the man gladly accepted. "I am. Just sorta got demoted for a bit. Got to go out into the field today though. That was nice."

"They take your gun then?"

"Yes. They did. Not that I ever carried to begin with. Someone broke in a while ago?"

Sark's face went dark. He shifted in his seat and frowned with a groan. 

"Yeah that. Busted window. Hacked software. They have Luke looking into it. I just hope that I don't get fired for it, ya know? The job market out there isn't exactly kind right now and I don't know if I'd be able to get back on my feet again."

"You had the day off, if I recall correctly. If they blame you, I'm certain we'll find evidence to disprove that. I think they'd apologize by bumping your pay."

Sark smiled. He needed to hear that. The whole week had been a stressful one, and not in any way that others would expect. It seemed that everywhere he looked things were falling apart around him. To have at least one solid ground to stand upon was a blessing and he was thrilled to have one and have someone else confirm that it would hold. 

He stared at the psychologist for a moment, hesitant to speak his mind and half sure that Ohm could read minds anyway. Finally he gave in. 

"Hey, some friends and I are going bowling tonight. One of our boys is out sick with bronchitis. We have an opening if you're down."

He bit his tongue. That sounded like he'd asked him out on a date. He had no intention of doing that. He was well aware that Ohm and Tyler were an item and he didn't want to disrupt that in anyway. Truth of the matter was that he liked the company he found at the Marsh and was hoping to just strengthen some of the friendships. So he hoped against all hope that Ohm understood that. 

He did. It was all in the face. He grinned, a wave of euphoria washing over him. Thank God almighty, a distraction! 

"I'd like that very much, thank you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said every Tuesday and I meant it. I'm back baybee! It's a short one, but what are ya gonna do? Happy pride month yall


	4. Four

The elevator had gotten jammed again. That was the eighth time that this had happened and honestly it worried Tyler just a tad. Recently a lot of things had been failing around the Marsh. Just the other day the cameras were on the fritz. The lights had all gone out last Thursday. It wasn't like the Marsh to have so many issues so consecutively close to one another. He wondered if it had anything to do with the break in. 

He listened to the soft whirring of gadgets that surrounded him, the music that usually played had stopped the first time the elevator got stuck. The lack of sound did nothing but stretch his perception of the time passing him by. He had no idea how long he'd been trapped. He also had no idea when he should press that little emergency button. 

Before he decided to worry too much, he pulled his phone from his jacket pocket and quickly called up the new recruit. He'd helped vet the boy in and was excited to hear what all he thought of the job. 

Daithi had not expected the amount of paperwork involved with such a "simple" case. He wasn't sure what to expect when Tyler called him, he half expected that Ohm had complained and requested he get removed from the case. He sighed heavily, anticipating the worst.

"Hello?"

"Daithi! Hey man, I know you're busy, I just wanted to check in on ya. Ohm says its a messy one. You in over your head yet?"

"Oh!" So he hadn't been fired. That was a relief. He glanced outside his office window, struggling to see past the blinders into the bustling cubicles. Across the way he could see into Ohm's office. It was empty and the lights were off. Why did he get to go home?

"It, yeah it's a mess. Someone got tangled up in a nailing machine. Dismembered them beyond recognition. I think the machine should be on its way over to the Marsh right now."

Tyler groaned to himself. That was exactly what the lab needed, some giant machine of sorts to clutter their already cluttered workspace. 

"Thanks for the heads up. Did you meet the new nerd?"

"Are you talking to me or about me, sir?"

"I've seen your test results, you are not nearly the nerd I'm talking about. Uh, I think his name was Monty? Toddy?"

Saithi chose to ignore that little stab. For now. He wanted to say something witty in response but he couldn't think of anything. With great irritation and greater remorse, he settled in just answering his supervising officer. 

"Smitty was one I met and Scotty was the other one."

"Scotty! That's the one! What's he like? Good in the field? Smart? Useful?"

"I don't know, I was with Ohm for most of our visit. Smitty likes him though."

That was good. Evan might take well to him then. With a little luck, Smitty would protect Scotty from the antics of Craig and Brock. And Luke too for that matter. He smiled at the thought, thinking back to when Sophie had been born. There was so much to protect her from! And then there were all of his cadets, his fellow officers, Nogla now too. The world was swarming with people he loved, people he had to protect and it was stressful but there was nothing he'd rather be doing with his life than making their world a safer world to live in for them all. He just hoped that Smitty would adopt that big beitgerly feeling and work hard to follow in his shoes. 

"That's good to hear. Hey, if you need help with the paperwork or have questions, feel free to ask."

"Ohm told me you were busy."

"Somewhat. That's alright though! Sometimes a second case can help me see things that I may have missed in the first case. Oh! The elevator's working again. Call you back."

He hung up before giving Daithi a chance to respond. Truth of the matter was that he'd been making a lot more phone calls this past month than his phone bill could appreciate. He would go about looking for any reason to call the others at any point in the day. He pressed that little green phone icon and would grow more and more concerned the longer it took for someone to pick up. So long as he got a response within the next fifteen minutes he was alright with the lack of a response. Which, needless to say, put a damper on his work relationships. He'd become clingy, as Jonathan had bluntly put it, and cautious as Brock had gently phrased it. But in his defense, who could really blame him? 

And to further this little stretch of honesty, the others liked it. They too found themselves worried when Tyler missed his usual call. They could all forgive him when they watched him emerge from the temperamental elevator. 

Craig spotted Tyler first, out of breath and excited. Such was normal for Craig when he found something in any case regardless of the situation. Tyler doubted it was healthy that anyone love their job as much as Craig loved his. Then again, it was extremely useful.

"Tyler! Good your here! I wanna bounce some ideas off of you real fast." He turned sharply on his heal and bounded off back towards his lab. 

To enter Craig's lab was like spinning a wheel wherein you had a 50% chance of finding ground breaking evidence sure to solve the case and put the criminal behind bars or stumble into a room full of recently freed hissing cockroaches in need of being rounded up again. 

Expensive equipment carefully lined his lab surrounding the centerpiece of the room which happened to be Craig's bug tanks. Roaches, maggots, some species of butterflies, and crickets climbed and roamed about freely. On some occasions when the team needed certain remains cleaned in a way that wouldn't damage them further, Craig would be allowed to let his little critters feast until their bellies bloated. Now had been one of those times, albeit not in the traditional sense.

Craig lead Tyler over towards a tank filled with one dead bird collected from the rooftop on which they'd found their most recent victim and Ohm. Surrounding it was about two dozen dead American cockroaches. Judging by the look on Craig's face, this was not supposed to happen and he was both distraught and amazed.

"I just wanted to clean one bird, find out it's cause of death because Evan says that they were likely left as a symbol just like the feathers were. I was almost sure that the birds were, I don't know, shot? Fed rat poison? Maybe captured and then had their tiny little necks snapped? But... Rat poison wouldn't cause this. And that got me thinking- we haven't yet ascertained cause of death for our latest victim or any of them yet, really. Evan and Marcel found some sort of needle in his spleen earlier. Oh! That! I identified that as bone. Anyway, I've started going through which poisons could kill birds and I'm comparing them with our tox screen results, but then my boys all died. So I ran their stomach contents and found an anomaly." 

He redirected Tyler's attention to his screen and pointed at the long list of things that came back as positive. 

"Most of what I found is normal. What isn't normal is the gamma hydroxybutyric, which we also found in Ohm, though in a much smaller dosage, enough to help him sleep but not enough to knock him out. On top of this I've found ethylene glycol, eh-antifreeze, in substantial amounts in the bloodstream. It's very prominent in the spleen so I'm testing the needle fragment to see if it was what delivered this and I'll get those results later. So back to my birds! Here-" he pulled the bird from the tank and set it underneath a viewing camera.

"I'll have to pluck it to be certain but I think I found the entrance point of a needle right here. Upon checking to see what killed it, I found blood. Human blood. It caused the birds blood to attack itself. The bird got sick and died within the day. So what killed my roaches? Our bird was coated in ethylene glycol. It was soaked in it. Do you know how much antifreeze that would take to soak this many birds?"

Tyler listened, pretending to know the big words that sounded made up but weren't and smiled. None of that really made sense, but Craig looked so proud as if it meant everything. He slapped Craig on the back, impressed and proud of the nerd. He pulled his phone out then remembered where he was and quickly put it away again.

"You have no idea what this means do you?"

"Not one bit."

"I think the cause of death was the injection of antifreeze into the bloodstream. My hypothesis is that out killer sedated the victims with the gamma hydroxybutyric, tortured them, and then killed them in an almost untraceable way."

"Oh! No, yeah that makes sense when you put it like that. Have you told Brock or Luke?"

"No, you were the first person I saw!"

Tyler turned to excuse himself from the bug room, as he'd dubbed it some few years ago, to go deliver the news.

Craig watched Tyler leave and turned back to his tank of dead roaches. A small whimper escaped him and he took the time to scoop each and every one into a tiny cardboard box he'd made in preparation several months ago. His poor babies. They'd all get a proper burial. Later of course.

Tyler spotted Evan and forgot about finding Luke and Brock. He waved the doctor down excited to give away the brilliant news. He stopped, his smile dying upon seeing the panicked and frenzied look his partner was unable to shake away.

"Oh! Tyler I hope you have good news because I have very very bad news!"

"Bad news first please, mine might fix a few things."

"Good because we don't have time to save our next victim. A day at most."

"What?"

"I believe we have only a few hours until we have another body on our hands and I believe we're missing a whole lot more."

Luke's twisted face matched that of Brock. Both were crouched at the same computer monitor when Tyler and Even rushed into the room. Luke glanced up and stepped to the side, allotting the good doctor and the agent some room besides Brock. 

The screen was cluttered with several windows all minimized by varying degrees. Brock quickly chose one and turned to show the others.

"The dentist, the director, the doctor, they are all very similar in how they were tortured then murdered. Almost identically so but not quite. All three were tied down, beaten, burned, and killed in a yet to be determined way, but look at the levels of decomp on our latest victim compared to our dentist."

Evan moved to pull up the comparisons on the large screen Luke and Brock had recently updated. There were no photos, no only graphs. Tyler nodded trying to pretend like he knew exactly what it was he was looking at despite the fact that he was lost beyond all hope. An issue he found himself struggling with rather regularly while in the lab. This was why he liked field work.

"The director was found most recently but was perhaps the eldest of these three found. His injuries are a lot more crude. More violent and sloppy. Cause of death still unknown, we did establish time of death thanks to the maggots found in the lower intestine. He was killed 88 days ago. Our doctor was killed 66 days ago. The dentist was killed 44 days ago."

"Alright, yeah a pattern. So?"

"If our killer maintains his patterns, we're missing one body following the dentist, and today's the day we get a new victim. We are on a strict time table. We probably have been for who knows how long." 

Tyler frowned at the diagram, the cogs in his brain all turning and tumbling. He took the files from the table and began to thumb through them. He felt like he'd been given some ikea desk with only half the pieces required to assemble it. Only there were no diagrams to help figure out which piece went where, instead there was a Chinese step by step instruction manual he had to translate using google. But for once, in this strange analogy, he'd found a combination of words that finally clicked with him.

"You said that there were minor discrepancies? Mind elaborating on those?"

Evan looked between his companions before hustling to do as asked. Luke fished out the recent files filled with anything and everything and proceeded to print it all off again, now updated with recent findings. Evan pulled up the x rays of the three victims.

"From oldest to most recent, director, doctor, dentist. The director has the most inconsistencies. The bruises on his body are congruent with those on the others, sure, but they aren't nearly as pronounced. On top of that, the left coracohumeral ligament had been torn and there is a torus fracture, it's uh, when the bone buckles but doesn't crack or break, there on the left humerus. Such an injury is usually caused when trying to forcibly pin someone else's arm against a hard surface. It's safe to assume that however they were strapped down, he got free and the killer had to fight to get him back under their control. To further support my theory, the director suffered from a much harsher beating, he is littered in bone breaks and fractures all from the same weapon. Uh, Brock is still working on it's weight, but it's dimensions are 2.4cm in width and about two feet long. We don't know what it is yet but the force was delivered linearly, which implies that it was a hand held device and a relatively small one, not a baseball bat, not a golf club and we've recently ruled out a pipe because one of this thing's sides is flat and then it rounds off."

Tyler squinted at the rendering Luke and Brock had made to help visualize the weapon used to cause the injuries. He'd never seen anything quite like it. His mind kept thinking about a chair leg but those more often than not were either completely round or rectangular. 

"Then there are the needles. The director's flesh was more damaged than the others, he'd been pecked at by birds eaten by insects, there wasn't much to go over but his fingertips didn't need their flesh to reveal that a needle had been inserted beneath every single last one of his fingernails, scraping the phalanges At first we thought nothing of it but then we discovered that he was the only one who still had his shoes on. His feet weren't as easily accessible at his hands. It was here that we discovered the gangrene. The needles he was stabbed with weren't your average sewing needles, there were needles, the kind junkies use."

"You had Craig look into the needles right? I just got back from his office, and you're slightly wrong. They weren't standard injection needles, they were made from bone."

"Bone?" 

The three exchanged worried looks, not at all certain of what to make of that new tidbit of information. Naturally Evan wanted to get an immediate sample and see if the DNA matched any of the victims. He was worried that it would match, just not with anyone they'd found yet. 

Silence stretched for a second, the discincern of recent findings had put a damper on this little presentation. After a while, Brock had collected himself and pressed forward, grabbing back everyone's attention. 

 

"This is where we get lost. We don't know what it was he was injected with. We're still waiting on Craig's to screen results to get back-"

"Gamma hydroxybutyric and antifreeze." Tyler interrupted, glad that he remembered how to pronounce it.

"Antifreeze I get. It's a quick killer and easy to miss in initial reports. I believe that's our cause of death then. But the gamma hydroxybutyric? I don't even know what that is," Brock said.

Luke squinted, "The medication for narcolepsy if I'm not mistaken."

"Oh my God it is! And for those without narcolepsy, gamma hydroxybutyric acts more as a sleep inducer, it's like melatonin butt fucked acid," Evan elaborated, "while under its influence, you wouldn't be able to remember much, if anything, you'd drift in and out of consciousness depending on the dose, and when you are awake, the visuals are far from pleasant. It's a lesser known and harder to get ahold of date rape drug," Evan expanded but to Tyler's dismay.

It clicked. Tyler held up a hand with a mix of relief and terror washed about his face. 

"What if, and this is just an if, Ohm was supposed to be our most recent victim but he was found before he could be killed?"

The other three stared at Tyler for a second. They'd all done their best to keep Ohm out if this. He was alive and therefore they had no reason to consider him. That was a lie. In every other case involving a living person they considered them. Of course none of them would ever admit that. Probably because admitting it meant that they'd have to worry again. 

"Well, considering that the doctor and the dentist were seduced out into the open, and the director was just taken, it's likely. But it's also unlikely. But it does prompt the theory that our victims got the chance to see what was waiting for them. Psychological tortue sounds like something this killer would do. I wouldn't rule it out." Luke finally answered.

"Does that mean that we might not be missing a victim?"

"Either we're missing a victim, might have a rushed victim, or...Ohm has a target on his back. God I hope we're just not missing a victim." And with that, Brock excused himself. 

Tyler took a shaky breath and returned his attention to his partner, more desperate for answers now than ever before.

"Alright. So, any other inconsistencies?"

"Aside from where they were beaten and where they were dumped, none we've found yet. The only other thing that changes is the feathers and now birds. Crow feathers, pheasant feathers, the director was found with blue birds. We don't know why."

"Ohm had a note on him? One also depicting a bird?"

"Yes, an owl hunting."

Luke sighed. He hated having all of this, all of the pieces and not knowing where or how they fit. At least they had a solid understanding of things. That was better than nothing. But they were approaching a stand still. Before long, these three would end up in the unknown along with thousands of others, only their killer would continue on to help add to their devastating collection. 

"I guess I'll start looking up what the birds mean. I'll have Brock work on identifying what the blunt instrument may be." 

There was nothing else to do now but wait. Waiting was always the hardest part.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Serial killers are hard to write about. There so much to keep track of! Ah well


End file.
